Chapter 437

Hannah's posture stiffened slightly. No words left her lips at first, but after a brief pause, she stepped aside to allow Vincent entry.

Vincent walked into her apartment. Upon entering, his eyes roamed the room's arrangement-it was neat and unembellished. The furnishings carried an unmistakable elegance, just like they had been before.

"Please respect my privacy," Hannah replied, her voice edged with firmness as she grabbed a compact emergency kit from the shelf.

Vincent withdrew his gaze, his tone hushed. "Feels cozy in here."

Hannah paused slightly, her voice flat. "My parents arranged everything. I haven't changed a thing."

Approaching him, she gestured toward a seat. With practiced ease, she unpacked the kit and began tending to the swollen marks on his fingers using swabs and antiseptic.

Vincent studied her, noting how her gaze stayed fixed downward. Moments passed in quiet before he suddenly inquired, "How's your mother doing? Is she making progress after the traumatic cranial incident?"

Hannah's head jerked up. "Where did you learn those details about her health?"

Vincent stared back, his expression steady and resolute. "Before you relocated her, I commissioned a foreign specialist group in brain surgery to devise custom care and recovery protocols."

Hannah's eyes narrowed, a jolt of pressure tightening in her chest. No wonder back in Cavendria, the doctors responsible for her mother's rehabilitation had always said, "The initial treatment was timely and thorough, " "The foundation is solid, " and "She has great potential for recovery." It turned out that he hadn't imprisoned her mother but had arranged for the treatment. Could she have been mistaken all this time?

A swell of astonishment and conflicting emotions surged through her. She faced Vincent again, her lips parting but unable to form a reply. What was there to say? That Chapter had long closed.Hannah sped up her pace, disinfecting, applying medicine, and bandaging his wounds with a seamless flow of motion.

Once finished, she swiftly packed up the first aid kit. Her voice regained its detached chill. "That's it. You may leave now."

Vincent lifted his gaze and stated plainly, "I haven't showered yet."

Hannah's brows pinched together. "You have to shower today?"

"Absolutely," Vincent affirmed. "After all, I got messed up because of you. Who's heading in first, you or me?"

Rendered momentarily mute by his refusal to budge, Hannah finally gave in, her voice clipped and tight."Fine, rinse off quickly! And don't linger once you're done!"

Vincent looked rather pleased by her surrender, chuckling under his breath as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Hannah sank into the sofa, her nerves prickling with unrest as the sound of rushing water filled the air.

Time dragged on until, an hour later, the bathroom door creaked open.

She rolled her eyes and muttered, "Mr. Jones, you sure take your time."

Only then did she glance up-only to find him standing at the threshold with nothing but a towel loosely tied around his hips, his chest exposed to the open air.

Hannah's head snapped away. Her tone was laced with exasperation and embarrassment."Why aren't you wearing anything?"

A mischievous gleam flickered in Vincent's eyes. He shrugged. "Didn't bring anything to change into. This is all I've got."

Trying to hold onto composure, Hannah asked, "Are you planning to go back like that?"

Vincent shook his head like it was self-evident. "Not happening. I'll just crash here tonight. Derek can drop clothes off tomorrow morning."

"In your dreams!" Hannah shot back immediately.

She stormed off into one of the rooms and began rummaging with haste. Soon, she returned, tossing him a plain white T-shirt. "Put this on and get out!"

Vincent caught it easily, his fingertips grazing the soft fabric. The shirt wasn't something an older man would wear-it looked youthful in cut and fit. He raised his eyes, probing. "Claude's?"

"No!" It belonged to her-she liked baggy shirts for sleepwear.

Vincent studied herexpression, his tone dipping lower. "Then who doesit belong to?"

Irritated by his persistence, a surge of defiance welled up within Hannah. She raised her chin, her eyes challenging and aloof. "Just some guy I hooked up with."

Vincent's face darkened instantly, and he flung the shirt aside. Before Hannah could react, his uninjured hand locked around her wrist.

His height closed in on her, right arm pressed behind the couch, boxing her between his chest and the backrest. His breath landed fast and hot against her cheek. "You'd rather entertain flings than give me a chance?"